


An exercise in endurance

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Flirting, Gyms, Humor, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Jon fancies his personal trainer Daenerys, but he's been too shy to take the first step. After one late training session, he finds himself fantasising in the showers at the gym. But he's not alone.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 82
Kudos: 476





	An exercise in endurance

Music pumps through the speakers. The air is dense with sweat. Jon can taste it on his lips as he bends his forearms and curls the barbell up past his shoulders. He pauses for a second. He feels the metal rod in his hands - hard, unyielding. His muscles are tense. His breathing is heavy. He imagines quitting to ease the pain. But his trainer’s voice cracks like a whip:

“Again!” - and he lowers the weight slowly before dragging it back up with a grunt.

It is almost midnight. The gym is empty. Jon prefers it at lunchtime when people mull about and the machines creak. Now there is nothing to distract him; he can taste his own breath, smell the deodorant wearing off his pits, feel how his tee sticks wetly to his back. He hates being aware of himself. It reminds him of how tired he is.

His trainer demands: “One more!” - and Jon groans as he sinks the barbell down and quickly swings it back up. Even before she speaks, he knows the scolding that’s about to come: “Are you training for the Olympics?”

Jon exhales as a reply. His lungs are burning. Sweat clings onto his lashes. When he blinks, it feels like acid in his eyes.

“Then why are you using momentum?” his trainer continues. She finally comes into view, standing in front of him with her arms akimbo. Daenerys Targaryen: short, pale, and strong. She’s dressed from top to toe in Gymshark. Her silver hair has been pulled back into a low ponytail. It swings around her shoulders when she walks. “Do it again - but slowly. We are working on endurance, Jon. No more quick bursts of energy.”

Jon grits his teeth together, but he does as told: he steadily sinks the barbell, pulls it back up, down again, back up. His movements are controlled. His jaw is clenched tight. His grip on the rod is becoming slippery. _Up, down, up, down._ He can’t see. He realises he’s closed his eyes. Stars dance across his lids. _Up, down, up, down._ His heartbeat is in his ears. His throat has gone dry. _Up, down, up, down._ He can’t breathe. _Up, down, up-_

“That’s it!” Daenerys calls.

_Down._ The barbell lands on the floor with a dull thud. Jon sinks onto the bench as he gasps for air. When Daenerys hands him his water bottle, he can barely pause to drink. He just clings onto the plastic, staring down at his trainers as he shakes his head. “Fuck me.”

“You did well,” Daenerys says. She settles on the floor in front of him, her back pressed to the mirror. When he looks up, he finds her smiling. “I think we can increase your weights a little. Maybe five percent.”

_“Five percent?”_ Jon frowns. “I did at least two more sets today.”

“What’s the rush? Can’t wait to get an injury?”

“You increased Grey’s weights by ten!”

“But you’re not your friend,” Daenerys reminds him gently.

Jon’s grip around the bottle tightens. He can hear the plastic crunch beneath his fingers. _No,_ he thinks bitterly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as he gulps down the water, _I am not._

Jon didn’t used to pay much attention to his body. As long as he could walk the stairs to his flat without being out of breath, he considered himself fit. But when he split from Ygritte and was forced into a house-share with Daario and Grey, his view of the world changed. Suddenly, there was no chocolate in the cabinets, every other meal consisted of a protein shake, and a night of drinking was always followed by a morning pumping iron.

At first, he resisted. “I’m too tired,” he’d say, or: “I’m too old,” or: “My horoscope says to _wait.”_ But eventually he ran out of excuses. One morning, he simply put on his sneakers and slunked his way downtown to the gym. And that’s when he met _her._

As Jon reaches for his towel, he steals another glance at Daenerys. She is tightening the laces on her trainers. His gaze slips down her slim neck, her narrow shoulders, her round breasts, her thick thighs. She is in a crop-top and leggings. Her midriff is dotted with pale summer freckles. He imagines drawing invisible lines between them with the tip of his tongue.

“Grey says using momentum makes you stronger quicker,” Jon says, still eyeing Daenerys’ body, “he says you can lift more that way.”

“Of course you can,” Daenerys replies with a shrug. “It’s easy to pick something up. It’s harder to _hold_ it.”

“Well, Grey says-”

“You should hire Grey as a trainer,” Daenerys teases.

When Jon’s gaze slips back up, he meets her eyes. _She caught me looking,_ he thinks. It makes him blush. He quickly starts wiping his face off in the towel.

Daenerys sighs: “Look, Jon, I see guys do this all the time. They get impatient. They want to _show off._ They don’t train their muscles - they train their ego.”

“Mh-hmm,” Jon mumbles from behind the towel. He can’t make himself look at her. He feels stupid - for asking, and for staring.

Daenerys gets up. He can hear the soles of her shoes squeak against the rubber flooring. The bench rocks when she sits down next to him. The leather groans when she leans in. He tries not to think about how close she is. He can smell her deodorant. He wonders if she can smell his sweat. “You’ve come far in half a year,” she says. “Don’t compare yourself to someone else. Compare yourself to who you were six months ago.”

“I feel like nothing’s changed,” Jon replies.

“Well, your attitude certainly hasn’t.”

Jon doesn’t want to laugh, so he bites it back with a grunt. But he still grins when he lowers the towel and looks at her. “That’s very honest.”

“I know,” Daenerys chuckles, “my talents are wasted here. Should’ve been a therapist.”

“Thank you,” Jon says, and he thinks he sees her cheeks redden a bit. She’s so close he can feel her heat in the air; vibrant, young. “I guess I sometimes lose perspective.”

“Hey, I get it,” Daenerys replies with a small smile, “I’ve been there. Do you think it’s easy being a female gym owner? I feel like I constantly have to prove myself to the guys who walk in here.”

“They don’t seem to mind.”

“Not anymore, but in the beginning it was all _babe_ this, and _sweetheart_ that.” Daenerys groans and rolls her eyes. “No one listened to me, they just all stared at my _body.”_

Jon, whose eyes had dropped to her exposed midriff once more, drags his gaze away and watches the floor in shame. “Right,” he mumbles.

“But deadlifting 250 gave them something to think about.”

“Right,” Jon says again. He’s still flushed. His heartbeat has picked up. He crams down another gulp of water as he tries to clear his mind. _You’re an idiot,_ he thinks, _and no better than the rest of them._

Daenerys’ ponytail jumps as she glances over her shoulder. A vacuum is whirring. The cleaning crew has arrived. “I better start locking up,” she says. “I’ll tell them to hold off on the men’s room.”

“Thanks,” Jon says. He grabs his things from the floor as he stands up. The sweat on him has started to dry. His skin feels clammy and itchy. “I appreciate you staying late for me. I’ll get those shifts at work changed, this won’t be for long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daenerys says with a brief wave of her hand. “We have to help out one another, right? Endure it together.” She winks.

Jon wants to grimace. He sends her a faint smile. “Right,” he says, “endure,” and he watches as she starts making her way down the line of machines. Her behind sways. Her buttocks look fleshy and tight in her grey leggings. He wonders what they’d feel like in his hands. He wonders when he became a creep.

_Endure,_ Jon thinks to himself, and he turns on his heels and heads toward the changing room. _How long can I endure being around her?_ It is not just the way she looks - it’s the way she looks _at_ him: open, and honest. Like a person, not a project. When he was with Ygritte, he was always in a state of change; his hair was too long, so he cut it, and his work hours were too late, so he quit, and his wardrobe was too immature, so he got new clothes.

But Daenerys doesn’t tell him who to be. She lets him set the goal, and then leads him towards it. _Even if it’s too slow,_ Jon thinks, still contemplating the five percent increase to his weights.

The changing room stinks of trainers and Lynx. Jon kicks off his shoes and quickly undresses. The air is cool. The tiles are sticky against the soles of his feet. The sound of him walking echoes in the empty room as he heads off to the showers and turns one on. The first spurt of cold water is like a shock to his body. He shivers as he turns beneath the stream.

_Daenerys._ Jon likes her name. He likes her smile. The moment he met her, he knew he had to sign on with her. She is positive, and upbeat, and challenging, and kind. She is easy to talk to. She is easy to look at.

When Jon closes his eyes, he sees her; the grey crop-top sticks to her skin, the leggings stretch over her behind. His hand fumbles with the shower. He turns up the heat. As the water starts running warm down his back, he presses his forehead to the wall and lingers on the image of her: running on the treadmill with her hair whipping behind her, and lifting dumbbells until her skin slickens. And doing dips with her white trainers dangling in the air. And stretching out across the bench as her top rides up.

Jon takes a sharp breath in through his nose. He blindly reaches for the soap. As he lathers up his body, he does it leisurely, rubbing every inch of his skin. _It’s the sweat making me itchy,_ he thinks, letting the soapy water trickle down his abs, stomach, groin. _I’m aching because of the workout._

But when he washes his arms, he imagines his palms aren’t rough but soft, and that the hand on his stomach is not his own, but a woman’s, and that when his fingers wrap around his cock, they belong to Daenerys. He imagines she strokes him. He imagines he grows hard in her hand. His muscles ease under her lips. His ears blush when she speaks:

“I want you to fuck me.” She is on the bench. She is naked. There is no one else in the gym. She leads his face to her naked body. She makes him suck her nipples, kiss her stomach, lick her cunt. His mouth grows wet and his beard soaks in her juices. When he enters her, he is rock hard.

_Fuck._ Jon’s hand works quicker. He takes in a shivering breath. His cock throbs in his palm. He is slick with soap. His muscles are tense with anticipation. The steam from the shower grows hotter. It seems to embrace him. He finds it difficult to breathe.

In his head, Daenerys begs: “More!” - so he fucks her deeper, and she moans: “Please!” - and he holds her by the waist as he takes her. Her head lolls off the end of the bench. Her legs are spread in his hands. Her breasts jump with every push.

Jon grits his teeth together. He suppresses a groan.

Daenerys asks: “Are you exercising?” - and Jon replies:

“Yes!” as he drags her back onto his cock.

Daenerys asks: “Are you exercising?” Her voice is louder, clearer.

This time, Jon doesn’t reply in his head but out loud: “What?” He opens his eyes. His cheeks are burning. His legs are cramping. He has to lean against the wall with one hand as he glances over his shoulder. Through the dense steam, he sees someone. He sees _her_ :

Daenerys, smirking, arms akimbo. She looks as if she was just watching him curling the barbell. When she catches his eyes, she gives a little nod of approval as she says: “Go on.”

Jon’s body burns with embarrassment. He clasps his hands over his cock as he scoots closer to the wall. “What are you doing in here?” he asks. He wants to sound calm, or maybe angry. Instead, his words are panicked. “This is the _men’s_ room,” he adds, unnecessarily.

“I thought you’d left,” Daenerys admits. He can see shyness in her red cheeks. Still she remains, her gaze dropping down his bare back. When she reaches his buttocks, he instinctively finds himself squeezing them. She pops her lips as she adds: “You’ve been in here for ages. Now I know why.”

“What’s the time?”

“It’s almost one.”

_“Shit.”_ Jon stares down at his cock. Despite being caught, he’s as hard as ever; red and jerking against his palms. Turning around is not an option - there is no way he can hide behind his hands. So he remains standing, facing the wall, body shivering. “Sorry, I’ll finish up-” he flinches at his own choice of words, “with _showering._ I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush?” Daenerys asks casually. He can hear her move - hear the soles of her trainers squeak when she crosses the floor. She walks steadily, deliberately. “What did I say earlier, Jon? You should work on your _endurance.”_

“Right,” Jon says. He’s still staring down at his cock. The hot water bashes against the back of his head, rushes down his body, tickles his crotch. _If she gets much closer,_ he thinks, _I won’t be able to hide._ His heart jumps when he hears a splash of water. She’s stepped into the shower room. The squeaking stops.

“No more quick bursts of energy,” Daenerys reminds him. Her breath hits the back of his neck. She lingers behind him. He can hear her smile when she speaks: “Can you do that for me, Jon?” and it sends shivers down his spine.

Jon closes his eyes. He feels like he’s stepped into one of his nightly fantasies. But the water is real, his cock is hard, and Daenerys’ breath teases him as it rolls down his bare body. Her mere presence is as good as her touch. He swallows. He whispers: “Yes.” It’s a single word. He can barely get it across his lips.

“Do you need me to show you how?”

_“Yes.”_

Daenerys’ hands press to his lower back, across his sides, around to his stomach. He feels her nails dip in between the lines of his abs. They seek past his navel, follow the coarse line of black hair to his groin. Her movements are slow - _too slow._ When her hand finally reaches between his legs and closes around his length, Jon is throbbing. Her tight grip makes him groan.

Daenerys clicks her tongue. “Patience,” she says.

“I’ve waited half a year,” Jon protests weakly. By the time he says it, it’s too late to take back - and it’s the truth. Six months of flirting and longing and imagining.

Daenerys’ lips press to his back. Her hand gives his member a firm jerk. “I know,” she says.

“You know?”

“The way you look at me - how could I not?” Daenerys steps in under the stream of water. Jon can feel her body push against his back. She’s still in her exercise clothes. The fabric rubs against his skin. In his fantasies, she was always the naked one. He feels oddly exposed. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out.”

As she speaks, she jerks him off; long, hard movements. Her hand is snug and warm around his length. Her thumb teases his foreskin. Jon can barely concentrate on an answer. He licks his lips and rolls his hips forward to meet her motion. “You turn everyone down,” he grunts. His heartbeat is in his throat. He can feel his pulse in his mouth. When he breathes, it’s like no air enters his lungs - just steam, and the faint scent of Daenerys.

Daenerys smiles to his shoulder. She tip-toes. Her lips hover by his ear. Her tongue almost tastes him when she whispers: “Not _everyone.”_ It’s an admission. It’s an invitation.

Jon can’t hide any longer - he turns, grabs Daenerys by the cheeks, and pulls her in for a kiss. She gasps in surprise, and he uses the moment to gain access; his tongue slips between her plump lips and into her mouth. He tastes her. He claims her.

Daenerys moans to his lips. Her fingers drag down his front - from his shoulders to his pecs to his abs. When she takes a hold of his cock again, it’s with a squeeze that makes Jon groan. He feels large and on edge in her small palm.

“I just want to fuck you,” Jon mumbles to her mouth. His thumbs drag across her cheeks, down her neck, over her breasts. The fabric of her top is soaked. When he pushes his fingers under the elastic rim and pulls up, it drags off her breasts with a wet snap. Her pink nipples are soft in the heat from the shower. Jon flicks his thumbs across them, and they start to harden at his touch. “In the gym, in here - _everywhere.”_

“And I thought _I_ was the poet,” Daenerys teases in a breathless laugh. As Jon’s head dips, she rolls her head back to allow him to kiss his way down her neck. Her heartbeat is in her throat. He can feel the quick rhythm against his lips. “Remember, Jon - we are working on _endurance._ How long can you last?”

“Like this?” Jon asks to her collarbone. She has started jerking him at pace again. Her fingers tug at his foreskin, the bottom of her hand brushes to his balls. It’s like she knows exactly how to touch him to make him throb. He could play it off and say: “Forever!” - but the strain in his muscles have started to visibly show. His knees do a jerk. He admits: “Not long.”

Daenerys chuckles. When Jon’s hands dip to her arse and grabs a hold of her buttocks, she pushes him back against the wall with a mischievous glimpse in her eyes. “Well, Jon, if you want to fuck me,” she says, “you better learn quick.” Then, before he can reply, she sinks to her knees, opens her mouth, and wraps her lips tightly around the head of his cock.

As Daenerys’ warm, little tongue strokes across the sensitive skin of his head, Jon gasps and leans back against the cold tiles. Her narrow mouth is wet and welcoming, and she quickly starts easing him inside of her with a bob of her head. She feels amazing - she _looks_ amazing: on her knees, her perky breasts bouncing slightly, her pale lashes fluttering, her mouth stretched to accommodate him. The hot water from the shower splashes down around them. A tinge of eyeliner has started to drip from the corners of her eyes.

“Oh _fuck,”_ Jon groans. It is nothing like his fantasies - it’s better. Daenerys knows how to please; as her tongue massages the underside of his cock, one hand cups his balls whilst the other takes a steady hold of his member. She jerks him, and sucks him at once, making sure every inch of his cock is constantly stimulated.

But as she starts taking him deeper, a dense slurping noise echoing between the walls, Jon catches a glimpse of her violet eyes through her lashes - and he feels his heart sink. If he comes, he wont’t get to fuck her - and he’s never wanted anything more desperately in his life.

The realisation must show in his eyes. At least Daenerys pulls a smile around his cock, and she winks up at him as she picks up her pace. Her ponytail swings across her back. Her eyeliner has reached her chin. Her face is bathed in steam and water, and still she continues, her mouth gasping for breath every time she pulls back.

Jon’s hands drag at the tiles for support, but there is nothing to grasp on to. In the end, all he can do is take a hold of her head, his fingers pushing into her drenched silver locks as he urges her to take him deeper, further. She gags. He moans. His balls tighten. As he gives in to his needs, he starts rocking his hips, fucking her lips as his cock pulsates. He is close. He is hard. His member pushes to the back of Daenerys’ mouth. She swallows around his length, and Jon rolls his head back as he prepares to come. He pulls at Daenerys’ hair one last time - 

but she drags away. His cock pops free from her lips. He stands stiff in the air, pulsating and sweating and eager to come. But he doesn’t.

As Jon groans in frustration, Daenerys takes her time to wipe her lips off in the back of her hand. “Good job,” she says chirpily, her voice the same as if she was complimenting him for completing another set of lying barbell extensions. Despite being soaked and slightly out of breath, she gets back on her feet with an almost professional smile as she adds: “I like a man who can take instructions.”

Jon stares at her in disbelief. “You’re a fucking tease,” he says, partially annoyed, partially impressed.

Daenerys steps closer. Her hands rest on his shoulders, her fingers tracing the shape of his muscles as she peers into his eyes. “And what are you going to do about that?” she asks. Her voice is low and challenging.

Jon grabs her by the waist, forcefully turns her around, and uses the weight of his body to press her front first against the cool shower wall. Daenerys gasps at his sudden movements, especially as his large hands brush across her breasts, her stomach, in between her legs. His fingers push into the soaked fabric of her leggings. He can feel the shape of her sex beneath.

Daenerys moans: “I think _you’re_ the tease.” She wriggles down onto his hand. She is unable to move much, trapped between the wall and Jon. Instead, she presses herself back into his hold, her buttocks rubbing to his cock. “Keeping me after hours so you can _pleasure_ yourself.”

“You weren’t meant to know,” Jon mumbles. He is embarrassed. He is excited. He pulls the band of her legging free of her stomach and sinks his hand down into her pants. They are damp around her sex - with water, but also her juices. He knows it the moment his fingers wriggle beneath the flimsy cover of her knickers and slide between her labia: she is wet for him.

Daenerys humms: “I bet I wasn’t,” and her lips purse in a moan as Jon rubs her clit. It is hard and sensitive against his rough skin. When he sinks a finger into her, he can feel it tense. “What were you thinking about?” she breathes.

Jon bites his teeth together. He doesn’t want to say, so he just focuses on making her feel good instead; pushing himself onto her, inside of her, covering her body with his own. The air around them is growing hot and humid. His curls have flattened against his face. When he breathes, water runs into his mouth.

“Go on,” Daenerys urges. Her voice is demanding and curious all at once. A second finger sinks into her warm sex. She shivers and curls her nails into the tight space between the tiles, holding on. “Was it me?”

“Yes,” Jon admits.

“Good.” Daenerys’ head rolls to the side. Her cheek flattens against the wall. She peers back at him, eyes partially visible between her lashes. “Were we fucking?”

“Yes.”

“In here?”

“No.” Jon swallows. He’s finding it hard to focus. There she is, warm and wet on his hand, her full buttocks teasing his cock, her plump lips turned up into a smile. _What do I need that fantasy for,_ he thinks, barely remembering what desperate scenario he strung together in his head, _when I have the real thing?_ But Daenerys is looking at him expectantly, and so he mutters: “On the bench. In the gym.”

“Oh! The one by the mirror?” Daenerys asks, but before Jon can overcome his blushing, she teases: “Naughty boy.”

The one by the mirror, the one by the dumbbells, the one by the weight plates, the one by the window. It doesn’t matter - Jon knows he’s fantasised about taking her on each and every one of them. He never expected the shower, and yet here they are: his lips on her neck, his fingers in her cunt, his cock ready. He almost can’t take it - the taste and smell of her overwhelming the air, filling his lungs, making him throb - but luckily, neither can she.

By the time he pushes a third finger into her tightness, she groans and says: “Just fuck me already,” and Jon is eager to comply. His hand slips free of her leggings with a loud snap, and he grabs a hold of the elastic band and drags them down over her arse. It is just like he imagined; large and firm, her muscles hard beneath her soft skin. A thin black string is all that covers her damp sex. Jon tears it to the side as he tugs her closer by the hips, forcing her to bend over against the wall.

At Jon’s movement, Daenerys’ hands slip across the tiles in a loud drag. She manages to steady herself halfway down, her arse poking up into the air and the small of her back bent. “Don’t make me fall,” she says, her voice almost drowning in the sound of the shower, the water bashing down across her shaking shoulders.

Jon’s hold on her waist tightens, and he promises: “I won’t,” as he guides himself between her legs. Her cunt is wet, and her labia spread for him with ease as he pushes into her sex. It only takes a hard thrust with his hips - then he’s inside of her.

She is warm. She is welcoming. Her inners drag him in and clenches down around him, urging him deeper and forcing him out all at once. He can’t tell what is water, and what are her juices, only that his throbbing member quickly slickens. It makes it easy for him to slide out and thrust back into her, the sound of his balls slapping to her soft skin wonderfully crude.

“Shit,” Daenerys gasps as Jon’s hard cock stretches her out. Her hands slip an inch more. She presses her forehead to the wall as she takes in a quivering breath. _“Shit.”_

“Are you okay?” Jon asks. His hands are on her buttocks, her waist, her breasts. He leans in over her, touching and kissing as much of her body as he can reach. When he bites her earlobe, he slips a strong arm around her frame, supporting her as he rocks inside of her. “Should I stop?”

“No.” Daenerys’ voice is weak, but determined. She blows water out of her face as she rolls her head back. The band in her ponytail is gliding down. Her hair has started spreading across her shoulders in drenched locks. “Don’t you dare.”

If Jon wasn’t so horny, he’d laugh. But deep inside of her, he finds it hard to do anything other than _breathe._ She is small, and perfect, her body keen to his touch. Her stomach is taut under his hand and her nipples are stiff against his palm and her mouth is greedy around his fingers. She sucks him in. Her tongue teases him. It reminds him of her blowjob. The thought alone sends shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Jon’s pacing picks up. Daenerys’ cunt tightens at his movements. Perhaps it’s the fact that she’s trapped between him and the wall, perhaps it’s due to the leggings still stuck on her knees - but he soons feels her wriggling and squeezing, her body reacting to every thrust of his hips. He can hear her the wetness of her sex when he pulls out, the slap of his balls when he sinks in, the mewls and gasps from her lips against his fingers when he rocks himself to her arse. It makes the muscles in his body tighten. His arm at her waist pulls her closer.

Daenerys’ lips move sloppily around his fingers as she reminds him: _“Endurance.”_

Jon could fuck her silly just from that one word. Endurance. _Endurance._ He feels like he’s been on edge for hours, ever since he started jerking off to the thought of her naked body in the gym. Maybe even before then - as he sat watching her midriff, the freckles teasing him to action. And now he’s taking her, hard, water splashing at their feet, sweat fogging his hairline, and the last thing he can focus on is to _endure._

_But she is my trainer,_ Jon reminds himself, _and she knows best._ Not that it means he can’t take some _action_ himself. With a grunt, he pulls his fingers free of her lips. They glisten with her spit. Before the shower can wash him clean, he reaches between her legs and starts rubbing her clit to the rhythm of his fucking.

Daenerys’ reaction is immediate; as he fucks her deeply and flicks her nub, she lets go of a deep moan of surprising pleasure. It seems to echo in the shower room, the sounds of her louder than their sex. “Fuck!” she gasps, and Jon teases:

_“Endurance,”_ but all she manages to breathe is:

_“Fuck!”_ as he circles her clit and labia, two fingers dragging back up to tease her with every push inside of her. He fills her, and he feels her. Her body shivers in his hold. Her hands slip an inch more. Her head is no longer rolled back, but thrown forward, her hair loose around her face. The silver locks sway in the air as he takes her.

He is on edge - she is on edge. He feels it now, against his hand as he rubs her quicker and quicker, and around his cock as her muscles start tugging at him, urging him, silently begging him to fill her.

But he won’t - not until she’s come. _Endurance._ Jon grits his teeth and tries to calm his heartbeat. _Endurance._ He grinds to her cunt, her arse, his fingers digging into her skin, marking her. _Endurance._ Stars are prickling on his eyelids. He bites his lip. He can’t breathe. _Endurance._

Daenerys moans his name as she comes. Her legs shiver, and her knees push together as her sex squeezes him firmly, the orgasm making her whole body tense up.

It’s all the friction Jon needs to come - one last push inside of her and he feels himself release. His cum fills her cunt in a few hard, needed bursts. He feels like he’s been keeping it back so long that he can barely stop, and by the time he pulls out, breathless and weak, he sees it running down her inner thigh. Water, juices, cum - it’s all slickening her legs and soaking her already drenched knickers as they snap back into place.

“Oh my God,” Daenerys pants. She’s still holding onto the wall, but by the edge of her nails. When she stands up, she almost stumbles. Her trainers kick up water as she turns and leans back against the tiles, her hand lazily reaching up to turn off the stream. By the time the water stops, the room seems to go quiet. Foggy, hot, stinking of sex and soap and cunt - and silent.

Jon leans against the opposite wall. He watches her tiredly as she pulls up her leggings. The fabric drags across her skin with difficulty. It’s almost like it’s shrunk - she can barely get her thighs and arse back into them. When she catches him looking, he can’t help a smile. “Looking good,” he teases.

“I know,” Daenerys says confidently. With her leggings in place, she drags her top down to cover her breasts. Her nipples are still hard and poking at the fabric, and she looks a mess. But at least she’s dressed - whilst he’s still naked.

It dawns slowly on Jon. She’s seen him, and sucked him, and been fucked by him - but somehow, being naked and limp feels like crossing a boundary. He tries to appear casual as he lowers his hands to cover his cock again. When Daenerys looks away, he feels grateful. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat. He feels like he’s drank litres of water, and still his mouth is dry. “Well, I guess I better, uh, get dressed.”

“I guess you better.”

“Is the cleaning crew still out there?”

Daenerys smiles a little. “I told them to go home,” she says.

“Right,” Jon nods, and it isn’t until she’s walking out of the shower section that it hits him. _She told them to go home?_ he thinks, his brows furrowed as he peers around the wall at her. She’s by the benches, her back turned on him as she’s tying her hair back up. _But why would she if she thought I’d left-_ “Oh.” The sound is involuntary, but honest.

Jon thinks he hears Daenerys chuckle and repeat: “Oh!” - but he’s not sure. All he knows is that she remains, her back facing him as he walks over and picks up his towel. Once he’s covered himself up, she turns on her heels and gives him a small nod. “That was a good exercise in endurance,” she says cheerily. “We should work more on that next time.”

“Right,” Jon says, not certain if she’s referring to his performance in the gym or in the shower. He scratches his neck shyly as he asks: “So, should I stay late next Thursday?”

“I don’t think that’d be necessary,” Daenerys says.

Jon’s heart sinks. “Right,” he says again. _It was the barbell,_ he thinks to himself bitterly, _she was talking of your weightlifting, you idiot._ But though his face is now very red, Daenerys is still smiling.

She cocks her head to the side, her wet ponytail slapping to her shoulder. “How about Sunday, five o’clock?” she asks. “You can show up before I lock up the place. I’ll make sure to have a few _benches_ ready for your, ah, _training.”_

Just as quickly as Jon glanced down, his eyes snap back up to meet hers. He stares at her in disbelief, but the look she sends him is honest, almost _keen._

Daenerys quirks a brow. “Or is that not convenient for you?” she asks.

“No! No. It’s good. It’s a deal,” Jon quickly stammers.

Daenerys nods and lifts her hand in a little wave. “See you then, Jon,” she says, and then she’s gone, leaving behind nothing but a trail of water.

For a moment, Jon just stands staring at the door, dumbfounded. But then a grin spreads across his lips. As he starts getting dressed, he makes a mental note to brag to Grey about his five percent weight increase. After all - what’s the big deal about momentum when you can have a whole night?

**Author's Note:**

> That steamy piece of art by DragonandDirewolf gets me every time - whew! It's sure hot in here!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this little smutty story. When I first started thinking of writing a gym fic, I kept imagining Jon as the personal trainer. But once I flipped the roles in my head, I realised how sexy the idea of Dany pumping iron is. I couldn't let it go!
> 
> Thanks for all your support on the October fics so far! Your feedback is much appreciated!


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